


boys like you are trouble

by youcouldmakealife



Series: if all is enough [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rousseau’s a distraction, one Ulf doesn’t need, but that doesn’t change the fact that Rousseau comes home with him again less than a week later, that Ulf has him spill bitter on his tongue, that Ulf gets his hands in his hair just to mess it up when he’s got Rousseau’s mouth fever hot around him. Ulf’s winter pale, and Rousseau’s golden, but you can still see the flush beneath his skin, crawling down his throat, blotchy on his chest, and Ulf wants to taste it, see if it burns hotter than the rest of him.</p>
<p>If one time didn’t get it out of his system, subsequent times seem to be the opposite of the charm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	boys like you are trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings at the end.

Ulf is not scratched the next day, which confirms what he suspected: that Rousseau’s actually got a sense of humor. It’s a nice thing to have confirmed, and almost nicer, somehow, that if he told anyone on his team he doesn’t think they’d believe him. Rousseau looks as dour as ever in the room, mouth tilted down, all buttoned up and slicked back, and Ulf spends too much time looking at that picture he makes and knowing what he’s made up of underneath. 

It’s distracting, and he can’t afford the distraction, because the only reason Rousseau’s joke landed is because getting sent down is a very real possibility. Ulf knows the next time he gets sent down will probably be his last. He’ll languish in the minors until he’s no longer their problem, and no one will be clamoring to pick up someone on the wrong side of 30. Hell, on the wrong side of 35. He goes down, he isn’t coming back up.

Rousseau’s a distraction, one Ulf doesn’t need, but that doesn’t change the fact that Rousseau comes home with him again less than a week later, that Ulf has him spill bitter on his tongue, that Ulf gets his hands in his hair just to mess it up when he’s got Rousseau’s mouth fever hot around him. Ulf’s winter pale, and Rousseau’s golden, but you can still see the flush beneath his skin, crawling down his throat, blotchy on his chest, and Ulf wants to taste it, see if it burns hotter than the rest of him.

If one time didn’t get it out of his system, subsequent times seem to be the opposite of the charm. 

*

They’re barrelling towards the playoffs with full steam, and they take the Panthers out on their way, a decisive 6-1 game. Lourdes takes out a piece of Ulf on the way; Ulf is vaguely impressed that his checks are as brutal as when he was in his twenties, if not worse, and he’s favoring his shoulder when it wraps up, added to the checklist of aches and pains that’s only getting longer. He’d kill to be able to take a hit like he could at twenty, let it roll right off him, but in hockey years he’s an old man, and he feels it.

They’ve got a game against the Lightning coming, but there’s a day off between, and it’s still cold enough in NYC that most of the room’s intent on taking advantage of it. They look to him for a decent bar, and he doubts the Panthers are going to be out drinking after a loss that shitty, a spot out of contention once again, so it’s fitting to have the Rangers take it over instead. 

Travis doesn’t show, so either he’s letting them have their space for a night or Garza is, since he’s the one who lets Travis know where they are, the nights he comes around. A lot of the younger guys have bailed anyway, looked at Ulf hopefully for a club recommendation until he rolled his eyes and directed them to Fort Lauderdale, since there isn’t shit in Sunrise, and there’s no way they can do Miami without getting in shit, despite their seeming belief they can pull off a ridiculous round trip and still actually get sleep tonight. Or maybe they just don’t care, which Ulf sympathizes with but can’t really encourage with Tampa around the corner.

The bar in Sunrise is pretty laid back, doesn’t care beyond the fact they’re a large group of well-dressed men, which they know from the Panthers probably means they’re tipping pretty well. Ulf doesn’t know if the fact the Panthers drink here’s gotten out or something, but it’s busier than usual, and he doesn’t remember there being that many pretty girls with tight dresses when he was on the roster. He gets some appreciative grins for that, so he’ll pretend he knew it all along.

They get some pitchers, and the family guys hold down the fort while some of the others scatter in the direction of the bar, which has a baseball game on and a group of those girls. Ulf lasts about two minutes of listening to Garza talk about his munchkins before he decides the bar is a better idea, and that maybe Fernando still needs a wingman, because by the look on the face of the girl next to him, he is definitely striking out.

Ulf tries, but Fernando’s game starts and ends with mentioning hockey, and the blank look on the faces around him mean either this bar’s gotten popular on its own steam or pro athletes are a lure despite a lack of interest in the particular sport. He’s at least got the dignity not to start mentioning what he does for a living, but the poor girl’s making faces at Ulf, so Ulf gently steers Fernando over to Garza.

“Friend of yours?” she asks, when Fernando wanders off.

“Co-worker,” Ulf says. “Sorry, we’re trying to domesticate him.”

She laughs. She’s got a pretty laugh, throaty, throws her head back when she does it in a way that Ulf knows is practiced, and also knows is effective. He’s probably got ten years on her, she’s around Fernando’s age, but she’s settled enough, has a job in Miami with a consulting firm, is saving up to move down, because she hates the commute. Florida girl born and bred, and Ulf’s known plenty of them by now. They’ve got their charm. “I’m Gabriela,” she says.

“Ulf,” he says, and when her mouth twitches up. “Whatever you’re going to say, I promise you I’ve heard it.”

“Who said I was going to say anything?” she asks.

Her apartment’s nice, not much furniture but what she has is good quality, classic. She’s tanned all over except the paler skin of her breasts, her ass. Her nipples aren’t sensitive, but her clit is, and Ulf gets her off twice before he sinks into her, Gabriela going tight around him like she’s still oversensitive, but the way she’s hooked her calf around the small of his back makes it pretty clear where she wants him. 

He uses her shower after, and she’s pulled her panties on but otherwise hasn’t moved when he comes back out. “You’re free to spend the night,” she tells him, when he pulls his suit pants back on.

“Can’t,” he says. “Flight to Tampa tomorrow. Today.”

“Shame,” she says. “What’s that accent anyway? You’re not American.”

“Swedish,” he says. “I thought I’d gotten rid of it.”

“Sorry,” she says. “I’ll call you a cab.”

It’s a fifteen minute wait, because that’s Sunrise for you, so she slips her dress back on, pours him a drink. “You don’t live around here, huh?” she asks.

“Used to,” Ulf says. “New York, now.”

She gives him a sideways look. “Hockey player?” she asks.

News definitely got out about the Panthers. She gives him his phone number for ‘if you’re ever bored in Sunrise,’, and he takes it, though they both know he isn’t going to use it. Hopes she’s living in Miami the next time he comes down, and tells her that, which makes her smile at him, bright and genuine.

*

The next morning half the roster is smirking at him, and Fernando’s pouting.

“I had her first,” he tells Ulf.

“Don’t treat women like possessions,” Ulf says, overlapping with Garza’s exasperated, “She wasn’t yours to have.”

“You got picked up by that stupid WAG blog,” Delaney tells him cheerfully. 

“Why do you know this?” Ulf asks him. 

Delaney shrugs. “Casey likes it,” he says. “She got them to take down a bad picture of her, and now they’re buds or something.”

He fiddles with his phone and slides it over. It’s from outside the bar, while they were waiting for a cab, and pretty compromising. “Hope she knew she was nailing a hockey player.”

“She knew,” Ulf says. “Why do you guys give a shit?”

“Why do you keep getting on that site?” Fernando says.

“Because he’s prettier than most of the women on that site,” Delaney says. “Except Casey,” he says quickly, and then looking over at Garza, loyally adds, “and Mia.”

“Don’t talk about my wife,” Garza says through a mouthful of eggs.

“Also he’s a manslut,” Delaney adds.

Ulf rolls his eyes. “You guys gossip worse than my mother,” he says. 

That’s it until they’re on the plane, when he has the privilege of sitting in front of Anderson and Wilson.

“You like the dark meat now, huh, Larsson?” Anderson asks. “Garza better watch out.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Wilson says, before anyone else has to. Maybe there’s some hope for that kid, if he gets better taste in friends. “You want Rousseau on your ass again?” 

Maybe not.

“Don’t know why he cares,” Anderson says. “What is he, a Frenchie? Didn’t say shit about them.”

“He’s a fucking Indian, idiot,” Wilson says.

“Both of you shut the fuck up before I shut you the fuck up,” Delaney snaps, beside Ulf, and they do, at least for the moment.

Ulf’s jaw is clenched, and he feels like an asshole that Delaney’s the only one who said shit, while he just sat there. Marc would tear a piece out of him if he knew. Garza’s a few rows ahead, and hasn’t heard, and Rousseau’s at the front, so there’s no way he has, but still. 

He gets a text from Marc then, _You are an asshole._ , and there’s this split second where he’s afraid Marc might actually be psychic, but then it’s followed by _Does Florida just make you one?_ , so he figures it’s probably related to last night. He has no idea why people give so much of a shit about his sex life. Marc, he gets, at least, but unless he’s got a google alert or Dan’s sister is still addicted to the WAG stuff since the period of time where everyone thought Dan and Marc were in a torrid love triangle with her and her and Ulf laughed for ten years, then it’s hit something a little more mainstream. Being Marc’s friend can do that to you, hockey media’s interest with him has barely flagged in the decades since he came out.

He holds off on texting Marc back, mostly because he thinks the latter text was just a snide rhetorical question rather than anything genuine, hopes everyone will have dropped it by the time they disembark.

_What’d I do?_ he sends Marc, and Marc texts back, _You know exactly what you did_ , and then _> :(_, because Dan taught him emoticons, which was an unfortunate decision. 

_Not everyone lives in a fairytale like you do_ , Ulf sends back, and then puts his phone away, angrier than he should be. Marc chews up theory all day long, but his only direct experience is with Dan, and he can pull holier than thou better than anyone, considering he doesn’t know shit.

That settled, it’s a quick practice on shitty ice before everyone tries to catch the sun. Rousseau doesn’t look at him, but Rousseau’s been avoiding his gaze as much as he’s been meeting it for weeks, since they fell into bed, so Ulf doesn’t think anything of it.

After, when they’re all changing, Rousseau trips over one of Wilson’s skates, left carelessly far from his stall, and Ulf grabs his elbow before he overbalances.

“Don’t touch me,” Rousseau says, low, and Ulf has a moment of deja vu so strong it’s frightening, though at least this time the room isn’t glowering at him. They wouldn’t, even if they did know, except maybe for stepping across that unbreachable divide between management and team, because the Panthers loved Filip like a little brother, and the Rangers respect Rousseau, maybe fear him, a little, but that’s it. Ulf almost wishes he was, because at least that’d mean guys had Rousseau’s back. As it is, nobody’s looking their way. 

“Sorry,” Ulf says, and lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> Multiple racist comments by minor characters.


End file.
